


More, Please

by the_100_sin_bin_1985



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, First Time, Half-Sibling Incest, Incest, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 07:51:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10381986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_100_sin_bin_1985/pseuds/the_100_sin_bin_1985
Summary: Who else is going to teach Octavia about sex if Bellamy doesn't?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to everyone who came along with me on this journey of filth over on LJ for the 100 kink meme! and of course special thanks to whoever prompted "bellamy gives octavia forbidden sex lessons.." i moved it over here because i might add on more . . .

She doesn’t knock first. That’s how it starts.

No privacy in quarters that small, not for working-class people like the Blakes. Two stations over, the Jahas live in a space six times this size, the kid’s got his own room. Chancellor perks. But the Blakes have one room for sleeping, and only two beds, so Bellamy shares with his sister. But he’s 20 and every once in awhile he needs to be alone for a few minutes and the cramped little bathroom – size of a closet, basically – is all there is.

It’s easiest standing in the shower. More room, and the mess goes down the drain. Less awkward that way. One hand braced against the wall as the other one moves. _Quick quick slow, quick quick slow._ He has this down to a science. He’s so tired, he’s tired every day, he’s tired from the minute he wakes up until the minute he falls asleep, but Mom and O can’t see it. (Can’t _let_ them, more like.) Always tired. And every once in awhile, he just needs a moment of release. Sometimes it’s the flask of illegal moonshine behind the bed that he swiped from a party. Tonight it’s this.

Everything falls away – O, Mom, work, the Ark, their small gray life – and he lets himself just feel. Hand slick and swift. Clutching himself with firm sure fingers. So good. A pure good thing, just for a minute. Pleasure. Simple and easy and all his, a thing he doesn’t have to share.

He doesn’t hear the door open, he’s too far gone to notice anything besides the bliss of friction and the rising pressure. He comes hard and quiet, lips pressed tight closed to choke back the groan, forehead resting on the cold dry steel of the shower wall as he catches his breath.

She waits politely to let him finish. “What are you doing?” she asks, calm and curious, the way she asks about books he shares or stories he tells her, the way she asks when she wants to learn things. He flushes hot red and hastily zips back up, embarrassment coming out as anger.

“Nothing.”

“You’re in the shower with your clothes on. And no water.”

“I wasn’t doing anything, O.” He brushes past her almost roughly back into the room. She turns to watch him, arms folded.

“You were doing _something_ ,” she observes. “Because you were smiling.”

This is mortifying.

“Is it like when you come home from work and your shoulders are all in knots?” she asks helpfully. She’s trying to understand. “And I give you a backrub and it hurts for a minute and then it feels better, and _you_ feel better. Is it like that?”

“No. It’s nothing like that.”

“You were making the same noise.”

“Drop it, O."

“No, it’s nice,” she says, smiling. “It’s a nice noise. It’s your happy sound.”

“I have a happy sound?”

“You don’t use it much,” she points out wryly. “But it’s there. It’s how I know you like Mom’s bed better than our bed.”

His brow furrows. “What’s that mean?”

“When she’s gone at night. When I sleep in our bed and you take hers. Sometimes I can hear you, making that sound.”

“O –“

“Is that what you’re doing?”

He thinks about denying it, spins through some different options, maybe it’s easier to lie. But _fuck_ , Mom’s never gonna teach her this, she’s already 15, and even though he’s not quite sure what chance there is for a life for her outside this room, he hasn’t given up hope yet that there’ll be one. Which means boys. (Or girls. Or both. Whatever. _She_ doesn’t know yet, how the hell should _he_ know?) And she’s not a kid, even though they sometimes treat her like one – he can’t pin this on Mom, he knows he does it too.

Someone’s gotta explain this shit, and nobody in the world loves her more than he does.

Just another of the fucked-up tasks that falls on your shoulders when you’re in charge of raising your sister in secret.

He sits her down on the bed and fumbles through the basics. She hasn’t been to school, but he has, and he’s also had sex, so he knows the classroom stuff and the bedroom stuff enough to more or less get through it. But she doesn’t actually care how babies are made, waves that off impatiently to get back to the real question.

“How do girls do it?”

“What?”

“To themselves. Like you were doing. I don’t have a, mine’s different. How do girls?”

“You can just . . .” He mimes, helplessly. “With your fingers.”

 _“How?”_ Impatient. A little cross. Never likes being _told_ things, has to see it herself. “Show me.”

“I can’t.”

“I don’t mind,” she says easily, unzipping her jeans to tug them down. “I saw you and it didn’t bother me.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” he says, annoyed and embarrassed, but she shimmies out of her pants and lies back on the bed. Already gotten her way, just waiting for him to concede. “O, it’s not something . . . brothers and sisters don’t . . .”

“Well, you’re not explaining it very well, so just show me once so I’ll know and then you can go be weird about it somewhere else,” she sighs, like _she’s_ the one irritated at _him_.

_For fuck’s sake._

And since she isn’t relenting, and since they’re alone the rest of the night, so at the very least there’s no chance he’ll have to explain this . . .

“Here,” he says, relenting and gritting his teeth and really really trying not to think about this too hard, as he gently takes one of her hands in his. They go inside the patched blue panties together, where it’s all soft skin and downy fur.

He tries to remember he’s just teaching her a lesson. She asks questions about the world. He answers them.

This one he’s just answering on her body, that’s all.

She’s bone dry, so he starts with that, maneuvering her fingertips to rest on her clit, then removing his hand fast enough to convince himself he has plausible deniability. “Girls have to be wet first, or it doesn’t feel good,” he explains. “It’ll take a minute. But I think like . . . I think this is the good way.”

“Just touch it?”

“Yeah. Like with your fingertip is good. Little circles.”

“For how long?”

“Long as you want,” he says. “If it feels good.”

She wrinkles her nose, considering. “It doesn’t feel like much of anything,” she says doubtfully. “I think I’m doing it wrong.”

There’s only one thing he can do, and he resists as long as he can, trying not to look at the way she’s looking at him, trying not to think about how she deserves to have a way to shake off the weight of a terrible day too, but she doesn’t have an Ark full of other teenagers like he did to explain the things you need to have explained.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll show you.”

He bumps her hand aside and finds her clit. He’s done this a couple times, but not many, so it’s kind of a one-eyed man in the kingdom of the blind thing, but O’s fingers must have been in the wrong place or something because when he presses down with the tip of his finger, she makes a sound.

A happy sound

“You okay?”

She nods. “More, please.”

And that’s how it begins. _“More, please.”_ It’s that simple.

The lesson lasts the rest of the night. It gets easier when he gives up pretending, sheds jeans and kicks off boots and curls up warm and gentle next to her. He feels her grow slick around his fingers, talks her through it as he goes so he doesn’t scare her, dips one finger into the tight opening and soothes her down when she clenches in panic. He goes slow, lets her get used to him inside her, kisses her hair, reminds her to breathe, waits for the “More, please” before moving on.

It takes her a long time to come, but he’s patient. He takes his time, does it right. Fingers crooked deep inside her, thumb circling her clit. Forehead pressed to hers. Watching her. Making sure she’s all right.   
Octavia Blake’s first orgasm is a pretty good one, and he’s kinda proud. She squirms up into him, pants a little, squeezes around his fingers, so he knows she’s close. When it hits her she inhales sharply, fingers clamping tightly around his forearm.

“Oh,” she says breathlessly. “Oh.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m good. Promise. Really good.”

“Was it like . . . what you thought?”

“I don’t know what I thought, but I liked it.” She smiles at him. Her lips suddenly press dry and warm against his. He’s been carefully avoiding kissing her, but she doesn’t know where any of the lines are so she doesn’t care about crossing them. She just knows she’s happy and she feels good, and she likes kisses.

And just like that he’s hard again, pressed into her hip, praying she won’t notice, praying she won’t ask.

_Don’t ask, O. Because if you ask I’ll tell you. And if I tell you you’ll want to try. And if you try it on me, then I’m not teaching you. And if I’m not teaching you, we’re just having sex._

He gets half his wish. She doesn’t ask.

Instead, she rolls over a little, fumbles around with her hand until she finds it, and looks at him. “People can do it to each other, right?” she asks. “I mean this way.”

“O – “

“I want to hear the happy sound again,” she says, smiling, and then he’s lost.

No idea what she’s doing, but she learned this from watching him, the way she learns everything. Firm grip, swift strokes. She walked in on him at the end, when he was going hard, so she assumes that’s just how people do it. He chokes back a groan, hips rocketing off the bed.

It’s so good.

_It’s so good._

“Slow down a little,” he stutters. “If you, like . . . if you switch between . . .”

“Like fast sometimes and slow sometimes?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she says, and does it perfectly.

She’s so smart, so quick, her eyes miss nothing. She sees him flinch a little when her fingers brush the ridge, so she experiments a little, makes him almost cry out. She laughs. So damn pleased with herself. She likes showing off for her big brother sometimes, likes reminding him she’s as smart as he is, letting him know how fast she can pick things up. Learned to read early, learned to sew. She thinks this is the same. _Look, I figured it out._

When he comes she’s surprised, but not horrified. This part she watched in the shower, she knows to expect it. He gets a cloth from the bathroom and cleans everything up, the real world returning.

She can tell, watching him gently wipe her sticky belly clean with his damp rag, that there’s something about this they’re hiding. It doesn’t bother her. She’s used to that. Just one more piece of Octavia Blake that nobody’s supposed to know exists. He wipes away all traces, and she accepts it, because that’s reality.

But he doesn’t make them put their clothes back on, and he doesn’t get into the other bed. He comes back to her. Takes her in his arms, holds her against her chest.

“More please,” she says sleepily, head drooping onto his shoulder.

He kisses her hair. “Tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

So it starts like that. Teaching her things, like he always teaches her things, answering her questions because who the hell else is she gonna ask? He falls asleep that night feeling . . . _something_. Not sure what. Confused, sated, uneasy. Torn between how good she felt and how fucked up this is. Thank God it’s just this once.

But O doesn’t know it’s wrong, she just knows it’s secret, and she’s so used to secrets she can’t tell all the different kinds apart. What Mom does with the guards when she’s gone for two, three nights at a time. How nimble her little fingers are with a needle and thread, helping Mom so they can get the work done twice as fast. Both secrets, two different kinds, but they feel the same to O. She’s got no idea. She doesn’t know if they do this again, she’s taking away the only defense he can make to himself, the notion that he’s doing this for her.

But O doesn’t know that. All she knows is waking up warm and naked in his arms and smiling up at him and saying “Hi!” like she’s never been happier, and then her mouth finds his.

 _What’s the harm in kisses,_ he tells himself, a little desperately, and lets his mouth fall open so she can come inside.

O’s never kissed this way before. Another new thing to learn. She’s excited. Bellamy’s teaching her so many new things. He goes slow, waits for her to mirror him. His tongue brushes into her mouth. She starts a little, hesitates, then does the same thing back. It’s awkward for a minute, fumbling, uncertain, but after a few minutes they get used to it. O relaxes, lips going slack, arms around his back in a tight, close hug. Pure love. Bell’s big warm body like the world’s best blanket. She melts underneath him, happy, willing. “More please."

So he sits up to catch his breath, and everything goes kind of blurry for awhile as she takes him in her arms and pulls him over another line.

A much, much bigger one.

This way fast becomes her favorite. And she doesn’t know to be ashamed of it, doesn’t know it’s not something she’s supposed to just ask for. So she asks for it all the time. Bellamy comes home from work, O’s alone in their quarters. She jumps up to greet him, arms around his neck, “I want kisses, please,” and before he knows it he’s on his knees with his head beneath her skirt. Her little hands clutch at his shoulders, his hair. He’s so careful with her, attentive, listening and watching to make sure she’s okay, making sure she feels good, she wants this, so he goes from “okay at oral” to “really good at oral” in a matter of weeks.

There’s something pure about it, despite how fucked up he knows this all is. O doesn’t know to be ashamed. She just knows his mouth feels good between her thighs, knows every flick of his tongue is made of his love for her.

Bellamy knows it’s gotta stop. One of these times he’s got to learn to say no. To explain this to her. “Brothers and sisters aren’t supposed to do this together,” he tries once.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s wrong.”

“Why?”

And the conversation kind of crashes and burns right about there. “Because everyone says it is, so it is” doesn’t satisfy O. Never has, about anything. There’s an argument to be made about inbreeding, he supposes, but how the fuck does that apply here, with O on her back on the narrow little bed and Bellamy’s lips wrapped around her clit?

It doesn’t. Not in any way he can explain.

He doesn’t stop feeling like a monster. But he also doesn’t stop.

It gets worse the day he comes home with his shoulder all fucked up again. She can tell he’s stiff, sore, the minute he walks in the door. Mom’s gone again, Mom’s always gone, out for the night and probably the morning too, and O's been alone all day. So damn happy to see him.

She spots it immediately, how tired he is, how worn out. Wants to do something, wants to fix it.

“Do you want kisses?” she asks him brightly. She wants to help. This always makes her feel good. Maybe boys like it too. Maybe she can figure out a way.

“O, no, don’t – “

Too late. She takes him by the hand, ignores his protests, and it’s like he disappears from his body for a minute and wakes back up again sitting on the edge of his bed with his sister kneeling between his thighs.

She’s clumsy at first, but determined. She wants him happy. Or at least relaxed. He watches her brow furrow with concentration. Trying to remember what he liked best with her hand, trying to replicate it with her mouth. He’s not hard yet, this all took him kind of by surprise, so she has to hold him in both hands. She seems okay with the taste of him, licks a little to check first before proceeding. He hates himself for how hot that is, her little pink tongue against his cock, like a kitten.

“O,” he says, and there’s a little protest in his voice but not enough to stop her since he doesn’t really mean “No.” More like he’s trying to get half-credit on a test. _Wrong answer, Bellamy, but you made an effort._

“It’s okay,” she says, reassuring him, totally misunderstanding. “I can do it. I think I know how to do it.”

“O, that’s not – _fuck_.”

Now he’s inside her mouth, and he just gives up pretending.

It’s all kind of fumbling and inexpert at first – not sure how hard to go, not sure what to do with her tongue. Not a bad sensation, just a new one. Holding something this big inside her mouth. Saliva pools around the head of his cock. He shivers.

She pulls off with a wet little pop and looks up at him. _Get it together, Bellamy_. He’s ready to come, like, _now,_ practically. Gotta slow this down.

“Am I doing it okay?” she asks. “Does it feel okay?”

“Feels good, O. Really good.” Fists clench the edge of the bed, teeth gritted. Fighting not to lose it.

“Keep going?”

_No._

“Yes.”

“Well, say it then,” she teases, grinning up at him. His cock throbs in her hand.

“More, please,” he mumbles, and she gets back to work.

He runs a hand through her hair as she bends down, and she smiles around his dick. Likes that. Likes being touched, caressed. Nobody but Bellamy touches her, it’s him or it’s nothing, long days of isolation and no human contact, so he pets her hair and brushes his knuckles over her cheek, feeling it hollow out as she tries sucking a little. He gives a little yelp, and she giggles, does it again, _Look how fast I’m learning, look at me, Bell, I’m getting good at this,_ and that’s the end of letting himself feel shitty about feeling good, because fuck, her happy wet mouth and her busy little hands and her big dark eyes looking up at him. And yeah, maybe her technique is a little hesitant, but no one’s ever been this excited to suck him off before, no one’s ever been so happy to have their mouth on him, no one’s ever cared this much if it feels good.

She doesn’t know there’s a way you’re supposed to do this, so she’s kind of just playing around and watching his reactions, and she does things no one’s ever done to him before. No one’s ever licked at that little v-shaped dent in the ridge of his cock, at the top of the vein, just because they wanted to know what would happen. So he didn’t know how hard that would make him come, so fast it takes his breath away.

She wasn’t ready, pulls back in surprise, pressing her eyes closed as hot white stripes across her face. Instantly he’s right there, kneeling beside her.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, O.”

She looks up at him, puzzled. “Why?”

He’s not sure how to answer that. It’s complicated, it’s too long an answer, _I don’t like the way it feels to do that to a girl,_ without explaining the part where it’s supposed to be shameful for girls to like this. A thing he doesn’t really want to put into her head.

“I made a mess” is what he finally goes with, knowing it’s half-assed and not totally honest.

She shrugs. Little pink kitten tongue darts out, catches a drop on the side of her lip, tastes it, considering. His cock’s spent as hell, but it twitches a little anyway, at the sight of that. He wants to lick it all off her, but he doesn’t. He gets a warm cloth, washes her face and hair. Tender and attentive. Such a good brother. So much love between them. So much care.

So far over the line that when Bellamy looks back, he can’t even see it behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Mom’s on a short fuse lately, snapping for no reason, gone all the time, and it’s gotten so they can’t stand to have her around. Because the more she’s gone, the more Octavia’s free. When Mom’s home, it’s back under the floorboards, in case people come by.

Not to mention, of course, that the more Mom’s gone, for long stretches of time, the more they get to be alone with each other.

By the end of the first month they’ve done everything but, and Bellamy’s _dying_. They’re making each other so good at this, practicing until they’re perfect with fingers and tongues everywhere. There’s no way they don’t like it, so far. It’s all a game to Octavia, pure joy, no shame. Nothing dark in it. So he tries to shrug off the darkness too. Tries not to think about what Mom would say.

What _anyone_ would say.

In bed with a girl someday far in the future, “how’d you get so good at that?” “Eating out my baby sister every night.” And that’s the end of _that._

Yeah, he can’t tell anyone about this.

But he doesn’t want her to feel him feeling bad about it, doesn’t want her to know how everyone in the world that isn’t him would shun her if they found out. This is the happiest she’s ever been. She’s suddenly so different. Really alive. Pink in her cheeks, gray dullness gone.

He tries to hold onto that. _Don’t think about being the guy whose sister is sucking his cock. Think about being the guy that makes her smile like that._

It works maybe half the time, but it’s a start.

And the intimacy of it, that he likes. Loves, if he’s being honest. Always touching each other now, always in some kind of contact. If she’s at the table working, he’s right next to her, elbow to elbow. If he’s reading, she’s curled up next to him. Haven’t bothered using the second bed in weeks, though they put their pajamas back on if Mom’s coming home.

When they were kids it drove him _crazy_ , O forever hanging off him, never letting him breathe, wanting to follow him everywhere. He loved her, he just wanted a _break_ from her, wanted five minutes to himself without her tiny arms around his neck and her little voice in his ear, “What are you doing?”, “What are you reading?”, “Where did you go?”

But it’s different now. Can’t stop touching her, can’t stop thinking about touching her when they’re apart. Rushes home from work so he can kiss her, hands sliding up under her t-shirt. Not sixteen yet (something _else_ not to think about), breasts still growing, but enough to hold, enough to feel so, so good under his fingers. He’s sucked them a couple times while he fingers her. His tongue on her nipple makes her gasp and giggle at the same time. That’s _her_ happy sound. He chases it everywhere, all over her body, and it’s different every time.

But to the rest of the Ark, Octavia Blake doesn’t exist.

She’s never been to the doctor.

She doesn’t have a contraceptive chip.

So, you know. They can't.

It’s not like he doesn’t love it all the other ways. She got good at blowjobs really fast, he has nothing to complain about. And _fuck_ , he never thought he’d love eating a girl out this much, but when he goes down on her in the morning he can taste her in his mouth all day. So it makes a wrong thing feel even wronger that he can’t stop wanting the one thing he knows they can’t do.

But he can’t stop thinking about it.

He skirts closer and closer to the line, walks up to it as close as he can. Lies on top of her while he fingers her, thrusting into her cupped hand. Looking down at her big open eyes. Close enough to torture him with want, but not the same.

It’s kind of a relief to just admit it to himself. _Just say it, Bellamy._

_You want to fuck your baby sister._

_You want to fuck your baby sister._

_You want to fuck your baby sister._

And Christ, he does, he does _so much_ , and he _can’t_ , and the more he tells himself he can’t the more he wants it.

It’s by complete accident that he figures out how.

He’s in the mess on his dinner break, eating alone. The three women at the other end of his table barely acknowledge him, don’t even pause their conversation when he sits down. He stares off into space, pokes at gray protein cubes, thinks about O. He goes half-hard, can’t help it, _wet pink cunt salty sweet gasping breath “More please”,_ and forces himself back to reality.

Reality is gray and flat and shitty and he fucking hates it. The only place he’s alive is in bed with Octavia.

_You want to fuck your baby sister._

He shuts it down, pokes at his food, eavesdrops on the boring conversation.

That’s how he finds out.

They’re all engineers, so he only picks up about ten percent of what they’re saying (at least it’s dull enough to bore away his hard-on, small mercies), but it’s the part after “something something excessive magnetization” that catches him. The women who work in their sector keep having to get their contraceptive chips replaced. Turns out exposure to industrial magnetics can fuck the thing up. So there’s a failsafe, a pill men can take, 48 hours and all your swimmers go belly-up. Zero percent chance of conception. One hundred percent success rate. You can get it from Med Bay if you’re willing to wait weeks for the paperwork, says one of them to the others (it’s a bitch to manufacture, so it’s rationed like hell), or you can turn over a few weeks’ worth of food rations to Nygel and fuck your husband tonight.

Bellamy can’t spare his food rations. O has to share them. But he’s more than happy to give up his whole moonshine stash in exchange for three tiny gray pills and a wink from Nygel that makes him panic. She can’t know. Obviously. Not possible. How could _anyone_ know? But she gives him a look like she’s onto him and as he bolts away he feels like he might throw up.

It only lasts until he gets home, though. It’s all over by the time O leaps up from the chair and flings her arms around his neck.

“Where’s Mom tonight?”

“Out. Tonight and all tomorrow, she said. Why?”

He starts to say it but can’t. Heart pounding, palms sweaty. He wanted to explain, wanted to talk her through it first, ask if she’s okay, if she wants this. But he doesn’t need to. She gives him a look, then goes over to the bed, dress already coming up over her head. Pauses to step out of panties in the middle of the bedroom floor, naked by the time she gets to the bed. Doesn’t know what he’s planning, but already willing. Already excited.

_I’m gonna make you feel so good, O. I’m gonna take such good care of you._

One pill down, the other two hidden. Forty-eight hours times three.

“This is a new thing,” he tells her.

She grins up at him. “Cool. Okay.”

He explains it a little as he undresses, not looking at her, he’ll fall apart if he looks at her, just lying there in bed, waiting to be fucked for the first time. White skin. Pink cunt. Brown nipples. But he needs her to know what she’s saying yes to, so he swallows back his shaking and tries to talk normally. His cock inside her, where his fingers sometimes go. She’ll have to be very wet, and sometimes it hurts the first time, but they can go as slow as she needs.

She looks down at his cock, face a little doubtful. “It’s too big, I think.”

“It isn’t, I promise.”

“How do you know it will fit?”

“It will. It’ll just . . . stretch you a little. So the first time you might be kinda sore. But it gets easier.”

“And it’s nice this way? You like doing it?”

“It’s the best way.”

“Okay,” she concedes. It’s half curiosity, half the desire to please him. Not totally sold on the logistics, but ready to try.

Bellamy’s never been anyone’s first time. There’s been two boys and four girls so far, all more experienced than him, though not all of them by that much. All the girls had had sex before, knew exactly what they were doing, led him where they needed him to go.

This is different. This is him in charge. And it’s her, it’s O, it’s the one real love of his life.

_Please let it be perfect for her. Please let this make her happy._

He starts on her with his mouth. Pill takes fifteen minutes to kick in, and the wetter she is, the better this will be. Plus if she comes first, she’ll be more relaxed. He fucks her with his tongue, in and out, warming her up, then slides in a finger to loosen her up. She squirms, wriggles, grabs his hair. She’s ticklish all over, it’s all the same to her, this is just a thing that makes her feel nice, so why bother torturing yourself, Bellamy, if she’s this happy that you’re here?

He noses deep into her cunt, lapping, sucking. Blood pounding in his ears. Her shaky little cries, “Bellamy, yes, there, yes,” louder and faster, and then it’s over, she’s there, bumping his chin with her hips as she pushes him down into her, sobbing a desperate “please.”

She comes down slow, flushed pink and happy, as he moves into position. “Hold it in your hands,” he instructs her. She obeys, her little hands eager, grasping. His forehead bumps hers. He strokes her hair out of her face. “When you’re ready. Just a little bit. Not all the way in. 'Kay?”

“Okay.”

“Tell me if you need me to stop.”

“Okay.”

She isn’t in a hurry, so she just plays for awhile. This is all new. Runs the head of his dick up and down the seam of her cunt. Taps it against her clit. Slicks her hand up and down the shaft, coating it with herself. Then nudges apart her own folds and finds the opening.

She hesitates when she gets there. It really doesn’t feel like it will fit. She looks up at him, worried. Has she failed at this? Is something wrong with her? No, she’s just not pushing hard enough. He kisses her mouth.

“Let me steer for a second, okay?”

“Okay. Yeah.”

“And hold onto me. It hurts sometimes, I think. The first time. For girls. And sometimes blood, a tiny bit. Don’t be scared.”

“I trust you,” she says simply, and he pushes inside.

It’s only bad for a second, a sharp little wince, but she doesn’t cry. White teeth biting pink lips, nose scrunched as she looks up at him, big eyes worried. “Shhhh, O, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Strokes her hair, kisses her forehead. “Doing so good.”

He takes his time. Pulls his dick out, rubs her clit again. More wetness helps, the second time. She’s ready, less scared, already a little more stretched out. It isn’t a surprise. He does that a few more times – pull out, tickle her clit until she’s smiling, wet, softer, then push back in. The fourth or fifth time, the switch flips on.

 _“Oh.”_ Big wide eyes. Soft little gasp. She _gets_ it. “Okay. Yeah. Yes.”

“You okay?”

“More, please.”

They lose all track of time. Minutes, hours, who the hell knows, they’re finally fucking and it’s everything he wanted. She’s _crazy_ tight, never held anything inside her except one or two of his fingers at a time, her cunt clutches at him _so fucking hard_ it’s like being gripped in a fist. Oh God, but so soft and wet too, her little teenage body underneath his, unfinished breasts pushing up into his chest, thin arms holding on for dear life. She’s so incredibly fifteen years old, small and eager and stubborn, starved for anything new. And this is new, a complete surprise, he brought it home for her like a present, just a few moments of pain in exchange for Bellamy inside her, like he’s part of her, can it be like this forever?

“You’re _in_ me,” she whispers happily as he grunts, thrusts, pants against her. “Like . . . _inside_.”

“So good, O,” he mumbles, mouth wet and slack against her cheek. “Never been this good before. Not with anyone.”

She freezes for a moment, as it clicks.

_He’s done this before._

More than once, sounds like.

So it’s not magic, a gift he brought home to share only with her.

It’s not a present.

She isn’t special.

Eyes pressed closed, stubborn even in her sadness, head turned away. Doesn’t push him off but doesn’t want him to see her cry.

_Fuck._

He’s got no idea how to fix this. 


	4. Chapter 4

“O. O, come back.” He pets her hair. “O, listen to me. Yeah. Okay. Yeah. I’ve done this before. That’s where I learned the stuff I’ve been teaching you. But it didn’t feel like this with anyone else. Okay?”

Doesn’t open her eyes, but softens. A little better.

“I didn’t feel _anything,_ not really. It was like .... like when you saw me do it in the shower, it was just to get that feeling. Just to forget, for a few minutes. It wasn’t like this.” She turns back, opens her eyes. “Never like this, O. Never this good.”

“Am I good at it?”

Scared to ask what she really wants to ask, _Do I make you happy, am I enough?_

“Maybe it’s only really good if it’s someone you love,” he says, voice cracking. A little more real than he’d meant to be. Showing her stuff he normally wouldn’t. “And you’re the only person I love, O. You’re the only one I want.”

The smile lights up her face. She’s back. He didn’t lose her.

Nobody else matters but you,” he tells her, and she knows from the clench of his jaw that it’s real.

“I’m sorry,” she says, but he shakes his head, _no, don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong, I fucked up and didn’t even know it, all this time I had no idea I was waiting for you_. But he won’t be able to hold the tears back if he tries to explain it out loud, so he just kisses her and hopes she’ll get it.

Hips shift. Skin on skin. Back to what they were doing before.

_Oh._

She gets it.

He fucks her like he has something to prove, fucks her like he needs her to know that his whole body is made of love, that he’s all hers, that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to make his baby sister happy. He fucks her until she comes, gasping, he can feel the sticky heat on his dick, but he doesn’t stop.

Sweat in her hair, shock in her dark eyes. What the hell _is_ this and where has it been all her life? What is he _doing_ to her? Fingers dig into his back. She doesn’t have to say “More, please,” she doesn’t need to _wait_ , she can just _take_ it, just lock her thigh around his and lift and take what she wants, which is all of him. The whole fucking thing. Right down to the base. She’s wet enough now that it goes in without a fight, but she’s not prepared for the pressure, and his hand clamps over her mouth just in time. It’s almost a scream, the sound she makes as he bottoms out inside her, it would get them in trouble for sure. He holds still inside her until she quiets down. “Sorry,” she whispers. “Sorry, sorry. I forgot.”

“S’okay.”

“It just surprised me.”

“I know.”

“You can keep going.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s really good, Bell. I like it like that. The hard way. I really like it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Want more?” She nods. “Okay, want to learn the word for it?” Eyes light up. O _loves_ new words. “’Fucking,’” he says. “You heard that before?” She shakes her head. “Don’t ever say it in front of Mom,” he cautions, “but that’s what it’s called.”

She nods, the word filed properly away, _yep, okay, got it._ “Fuck me, please,” she says, smiling, pleased at herself, _look, I’m using it right._ “Really hard.”

And Bellamy’s definitely going to hell for this already, so his whole body just says, _to hell with it._

“Yeah?” he whispers, leaning down, cradling his sister’s face as his dick pumps in, out, in, out. “Yeah? You like it when I fuck you?” She nods, biting her lip. “Tell me, O. Tell me how you like it.”

“Fuck me harder,” she whispers, the perfect mix of innocent and dirty, eyes full of love, lips whispering his darkest desire. “Fuck me, Bell.”

“Oh God, O,” he groans, hips crashing into her, hard, fast, sharp, and she’s giving it right back. He’s never seen her this happy about anything. She’s never wanted anything this much.

He tries to pace himself, wants her to come at least one more time before he does, wants her first time to be perfect. Grits his teeth, holds on for dear life. But she’s _so good_ , and he can’t hold back.

“O, I’m gonna -” he pants.

“Me too,” she gasps back. “Pretty soon, I think.”

“Can I do it inside you? It might feel ... kinda strange.”

“I wanna feel it.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he grits out. Teeth clenched, breath raw. So close. Almost there. Hands reach up to clutch his face, fingers soft on his cheekbones. Insistent. _Pay attention to me._

“Look at me,” she orders him. “I wanna watch you.”

“Jesus, O – “ Swelling and swelling, so fucking close, oh God, he’s gonna _lose_ it, her voice is gonna tip him over the edge.

“I like the way you look at me,” she says. “Open your eyes, Bell, look at me.”

So he does.

Pulls back up enough to see her, really _see_ her, take in her whole face. She’s biting her lip, orgasm so close, so goddamn close, and the fingers that have been teasing her little breasts slide up to clutch at her face, her sweaty hair.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he groans. “Fuck, O. I love you. I love you.”

“I love you Bell,” she whispers back, eyes wide. “Thank you. Thank you for this. Thank you.”

“O – “

“I like you inside me, I like it so much, I want to do it forever – “

“O, I’m gonna come, okay? Hold on, I’m there, I’m there, I’m gonna – “

“Fuck me, Bell, _please,_ I’m just, I’m like an inch away, I can feel it, fuck me – “

“Say it again, say it again and I’ll be right there – “

“Fuck me.”

“Say it again.”

“Please, Bell, please, oh, please, fuck me, _please_ ,” and then it hits them like an _avalanche_ , like a ceiling caving in, almost exactly the same time.

He comes _forever_ , spurting hot and furious inside her while she looks up at him, sweating and shaking. Her own orgasm ripples through her in wild little cries, all she can say is “Please, please,” and even though he knows it’s close to too much he can’t resist fumbling for her sticky clit as his soft dick slides out of her with a wet little rush. She squeaks at the touch, sensitive, but she doesn’t say no, and another orgasm bubbles up fast and sharp as he smears her cum and his cum together in a hot liquid mess all over her cunt. “Bell, oh, Bell, oh, that’s, oh,” but she can’t form a real sentence. But he understands her, nobody else understands her like he does, he reads exactly what she wants, she wants it to not be over yet, and so even though her body can’t take much more he stays right where he is, dick hot and soft against her belly, eyes on hers, fucking her with his hand until her fourth orgasm of the night is finally too much for her and she wriggles away.

Then, finally, he lets go.

His body drops heavily onto hers. She sinks down beneath it. They’ve never been this goddamn exhausted. Every muscle feels made of liquid. Can’t move. Can’t speak. Can hardly breathe.

They both fall asleep in moments, teeth unbrushed, all the lights still on, they weren’t even a little bit ready for bed. Bellamy dozes heavily on her chest. Total contentment. He drifts back awake at some point, doesn’t know when – middle of the night, lights went off automatically – and lifts himself gently off Octavla’s drowsy form. Goes to the bathroom, comes back with a warm wet rag. Tends to her sweet little body like a sacred thing, cleans off the sticky cum in gentle strokes, following it with kisses, reverent tongue on skin. Beloved. Cherished. Adored.

She opens her eyes, watches him, but doesn’t stir. “Hey,” she says softly.

“Hey. I wake you up?”

“S’okay.” Voice thick with sleep, a little dreamy. She lets him wash her clean, then watches as he washes himself in front of her. Doesn’t move or get up. He puts the wash rag back and climbs back into bed beside her. She settles easily into his arms.

“Never,” he starts off, voice cracking a little. “O. Never, in my whole life – it’s _never_ – I didn't even know - “

“Love you too,” she says, and in moments she’s asleep again, safe in his arms.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Demons Down Under the Sea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16129778) by [the_100_sin_bin_1985](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_100_sin_bin_1985/pseuds/the_100_sin_bin_1985)




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